


i came here to kick ass and look cute (and i'm killing it at both)

by AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Action, Agents of SHIELD Pre-Season 5 Space Speculation, Ass-Kicking, Bars and Pubs, Chance Meetings, Gen, Quaking, Undercover, but not for long, idk how to tag this, my action aesthetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 17:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed/pseuds/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed
Summary: My wish for the opening scene of season 5. Includes my personal action aesthetic, Daisy kicking ass, and a guest appearance





	i came here to kick ass and look cute (and i'm killing it at both)

The sound of the van door closing resonates throughout the parking lot, echoing in the night, only to be swallowed up by the star-studded sky and the faint thrum of bass coming from the nearby bar.

 

Daisy flexes her fingers, regretting the absence of her gauntlets. Instead of the comfort of their grounding weight on her arms, all she can feel is the cool night air gliding on her skin.

 

Her normal suit isn’t exactly the usual apparel one saw at these kinds of bars, but neither were the scars from knives and bullets that prevented her from wearing more exposed attire, at least not on a girl like her. A low neckline and skinny jeans would have to do.

 

Simmons would grimace at her reverting to the emo grunge style she’d adopted while on the run, Daisy thinks, smiling a bit at the thought of her friend.

 

Her boots crunch on the gravel as she approaches the bar, eyeing its half-dark red neon sign that read _Devil’s Hellhole_ and the sagging roof it hangs from. _Seems like a fun crowd,_ she thinks dryly. She can think of a certain mechanic who’d roll his eyes at the name, and that makes her smile too.

 

The door creaks when she opens it, the sound lost in the music blaring from the speakers above her head, controlled by an old jukebox a few feet to her right. She shuts the door behind her and makes her way towards the bar, which is filled with guys who look like they should be in a prison cell, not a dingy dive bar.

 

She can feel about a dozen gazes on her as she walks through the crowd of filled chairs and tables. A few indiscernible whistles and cat calls reach her ears, and she grits her teeth until she makes it to the long wooden counter in the back.

 

“Can I help you?” the bartender grunts, wiping a glass with a rag that looks dirtier that the tiled bar floor.

 

“Absolutely. Can I get a double Scotch and some directions?” Daisy says genially, ignoring the stare of the guy sitting next to her. She doesn’t lean over the bar, since that’s asking to get her ass slapped and she’s not in the mood to be breaking fingers at the moment.

 

The bartender turns, and that’s when she sees the top of an all-too-familiar tattoo on said bartender’s neck, only partially hidden by the collar of his shirt. Her fingers curl around the wooden edge of the bar as she glances over at the man sitting next to her, his thick hand clenched around a beer bottle and stained with the same tattoo.

 

Watchdogs.

 

She takes a deep breath. At least her intel was right about this place being a front. Now she just needs to get into the backroom to raid and destroy whatever supplies they’ve got (and maybe steal another bottle of vodka on her way out since she’s running low), and then be on her way to go check on Gabe. She’s overdue for a visit.

 

The bartender turns back to her and sets a glass down in front of her with a thud.

 

“Thanks,” she says cheerfully, wondering what happened that made him sign up for the Watchdogs. It never ceases to baffle her how horrible and hateful people can be.

 

“You said you needed directions?” the bartender says, glaring at her a bit, and Daisy knows he’s onto her, resenting the fact that her face has been plastered all over the news. She picks up the glass, but doesn’t drink from it, in case he’s drugged it. She sort of wishes she had backup, but none of that’s coming. She’s on her own.

 

“Indeed I do-” she checks his name tag, “- _Darryl._ You wouldn’t happen to know where-” she quickly scribbles a fake address down on a napkin and pushes it towards him, “-this would be, would you?”

 

Darryl picks up the napkin and looks at it, while the guy sitting next to her rises from his seat, abandoning his beer bottle. Daisy tenses, looking out of the corner of her eye as he goes over to a nearby table, whispering something to his buddies over there. Seven more pairs of eyes turn her way, and she curses to herself, knowing she’s been made.

 

“Sorry, don’t know where that is,” Darryl says, handing the address back to her. “Ask around, someone might tell you.”

 

“Would somebody around here tell me where to find the Superior?” she asks coolly, holding his icy stare.

 

Darryl’s hand disappears under the bar, and when he brings it back up, it’s holding a pistol.

 

_Showtime._

 

She brings the thick bottom of her glass into the side of his head, and the gun goes off as he drops.

 

And then all hell breaks loose.

 

More than half the bar comes at her, the rest scramble for the door. She picks up the discarded beer bottle next to her and smashes it against the skull of the first guy who lunges at her, slicing at the next with the remaining shards in her hand.

 

After that, it’s just her and her fists, and bodies fall with every punch, but that doesn’t stop her from taking a few blows either. It makes her wish she had a flaming chain (or, preferably, the guy usually holding it) at her side.

 

The music dies down when she throws someone into the jukebox, but that doesn’t stop the angry yells and spitting of vitriol at her. A fist connects with her jaw and a quake rips from her and sends the room flying, one guy through the window, and pain through her arms.

 

There’s so much chaos going on, no one hears the rumble of the engine for a certain black ‘69 Charger as its wheels grind over gravel and pull to a stop amongst the fleeing patrons.

 

Wincing, Daisy slams one Watchdog’s head against the bar,  knocking out another one crawling on the floor with the heel of her boot.

 

One man comes at her with a gun, and it’s not hard to kick out his feet from under him, wrestling the gun from his hands as he goes down and slamming the barrel into his temple.

 

It registers then, how quiet it’s gotten, and as she glances around, she notices that there isn’t a single Watchdog who’s awake or not already gone.

 

The adrenaline fades, leaving her to the mercy of whatever injuries she’s sustained She hisses at the pain in her ribs, and probes her jaw, feeling for any breaks. Her arms ache, and she hopes she isn’t out of her rapid-healing bone drugs as she leans against the bar with a sigh,  breathing hard, the gun hanging limp in her hand. She wishes she was invincible, it’d make everything so much easier.

 

Then the door creaks open behind her, and she spins on her heel, cocking the stolen gun in her hand and aiming it at the newcomer.

 

She almost drops it when she sees Robbie Reyes standing in front of her and her entire world slants sideways.

 

Her jaw drops instead.

 

“R-Robbie?” she sputters.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment/kudos, please!


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